


travel size

by softestlesbian



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, No Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 12:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9124336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestlesbian/pseuds/softestlesbian
Summary: Niall starts teasing Liam, poking him in the side, but Louis can’t look away from Harry for more than a few seconds at a time. He’s studying her, softly considering. It makes her chest feel tight, like he can see through her, all the way to the bits that still hurt from being left.Liam and Niall get up to play a game of FIFA after a while. Liam invites Louis but she’s tired, wants to sit and watch them. Harry comes to sit next to Louis, knocking his knee against hers.She smiles at him. “You’re always like this, then?”He shrugs. “Depends what you mean.”She frowns, thinking. “You’re so open with each other. Comfortable. Like…” She waves her hands.Like I was with Nathan, she doesn’t say. It hurts despite it.Harry nods, though, like he understands all the things she is and isn’t saying. “We are,” he says.She believes him.*or, a "new girl" au.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [delightfulalot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delightfulalot/gifts).



> okay so i have literally been writing this for TWO YEARS. it has gone through approx. a thousand drafts and i would not have finished it if not for samantha's loving insistence that i FINISH THIS DAMN FIC. tbh i can't believe it's done. THIS COULD VERY WELL BE MY LAST 1D FIC. (it won't be.) 
> 
> thank you a thousand times over to samantha for encouraging me and to ani for reading through it and assuring me that it was not terrible
> 
> a note: louis has, in this fic, dated both zayn and eleanor, but they're past relationships turned friendships.

“Nathan?” Louis calls into the empty flat. She tosses her keys to the table, rummaging through her purse before dropping it on the floor, smiling wide. There’s a stack of mail waiting for her, with a lovingly labeled _ Louis _ post-it on top. She picks it up, rifling through it. “Hey, love, my flight got in early, I’m—”

There’s a soft gasp, one which comes from a voice that definitely isn’t Nathan’s.

She looks up, quick, and her eyes widen at the sight of the girl on her couch. Nathan’s scrambling to cover himself, wrapping a blanket around his waist. “Babe, I can explain,” he tells her, but she can’t focus on anything but the rage flowing through her, and she stares down at her shoes so she doesn’t haul off and punch him.

Hot, angry tears fill her eyes, but she forces herself to remain calm, not to show any of her irritation. She presses her lips together, and with careful, measured movements, grabs her keys and purse, the stack of mail with the stupid fucking Post-It on it. “I’ll get the rest of my shit later,” she snaps without looking directly at him, and leaves, stomping her way out to her car. She slams the door behind her.

She gets her keys in the ignition before she lets herself cry, great heaving sobs that make her chest hurt, and she’s quickly grateful that.  _ Five years _ , she thinks,  _ five fucking years _ .

It’s only a few moments before she’s calling Zayn, beautiful and lovely Zayn who would never cheat on her (she would never date her again, either, but that isn’t the point). She’d have called her immediately, but she wanted to manage to get her tears under control before. 

“Hi, darling,” comes Zayn’s voice. “What’s up?”

“Nathan,” she gets out through her tears. Her fingers clench around the steering wheel and her other hand slips with the phone. She tries to wipe at her eyes, manages to smear her mascara and get her glasses all foggy instead. “He—the fucker was cheating on me, Zee.”

“Oh, babe,” Zayn murmurs. There’s an assortment of noises, and a door slams shut wherever Zayn is. “Where are you?”

“Outside the flat,” she says, and takes in a deep shuddering breath. “In my car.”

“I’ll be over in five minutes, yeah?” Louis hears the car start up, and her heart clenches with how much she loves this girl. “Stay tight, love.”

Louis nods, and even though Zayn can’t hear her she knows she understands. “Mmm,” she says, and feels more tears in her eyes. She drops her phone and presses her face against the steering wheel, shoulders shaking with how hard she’s crying.

* 

Zayn’s lovely, is the thing. She lets Louis stay at her flat and doesn’t mention it when Louis just wants to watch her favorite films over and over. And so Louis starts to look for a flat of her own, looks through the adverts and tries to find something that won’t make her shoot herself ( _ I’m in an alternative band _ , one of them says,  _ and have seven birds—non-negotiable, my flatmate must love my birds and be willing to put them above all else _ and honestly, Louis knows she couldn’t handle that).

And then she finds it.

“Zayn!” she calls, looking at the ad. “Zayn, get in here!”

Zayn runs in from the kitchen, holding a spatula. Her hair’s tied up in a knot on top of her head, and she’s still bloody beautiful. (Louis is maybe a little bit jealous of her; on her best day she doesn’t look half as good as Zayn does on an average day. It’s not bitterness, it’s fact.) “What?” she asks, out of breath.

“I’m moving out,” she says. She frowns. “Well -- that might be a bit preemptive. I’m meeting with these guys who are looking for a flatmate and if they say yes and aren’t crazy murderers or—like, insane cat people, then I’m moving out. But I’m thinking positively.”

Zayn smiles, leaning against the doorframe, spatula hanging down. “You know you don’t have to move out, right? We could be the two–bachelorettes or whatever.”

Louis shrugs, looking down and picking at her thumbnail. “Yeah, but I should. You know? I need to—learn to be on my own or something.” She’s echoing her mum, but the older she gets the less she minds that.

Zayn hums in agreement. “But you’ll always have me, you know?”

Louis smiles. “Yeah, I know.” Fuck Nathan; she’s got her Zayn and that’s all she needs (and herself, yeah, but Zayn’s always there on her best days and her worst). She’s always been her own person first and foremost and she can be single and still happy, fuck. “Yeah,” she says again. She bites her lip, looking over the ad one last time. “They look to be friendly enough. Don’t want me to share a room with any of them, which would be my, like -- only deal-breaker when living with a bunch of guys.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Zayn asks, sitting down next to her and watching her click through the ad. 

_ Yes _ , she thinks, but she doesn’t need to drag Zayn around with her. “If I decide to move in, maybe,” she says, smiling at her, a small little thing. “Though I won’t go inside if they’re freaks, I promise. And I’ve got mace in my bag.” It’s unopened and she’s not sure she could actually get up the courage to use it, but she isn’t technically lying. 

She sends off an email to one of them ( _ harrystylish at gmail _ , honestly, if that’s his name she’s going to laugh her head off at him and it’ll all be over from there) and sits back, pulling her knees up to her chest. “Now we wait.”

Zayn smiles at her, soft and fond. She scoots closer and pulls Lou’s head onto her shoulder, stroking her hair while Louis drifts into comfortable quiet. “Now we wait.”

*

On the day that they’re meant to meet, Louis goes directly to their flat, making sure to get there several minutes early. She’s dressed as nicely as she ever dresses, a dress borrowed off Zayn and her hair washed  _ and _ brushed for once, and she’s hopeful. Nervous, but hopeful. 

She hasn’t lived with anyone but Nathan (and Zayn, but that’s different) in four years—but she can do this.

She rings the bell and puts on her best smile, lacing her fingers together behind her back.

A guy answers the door. He’s pretty in the casual sort of way, curly hair and bright green eyes. He’s got a toothbrush in his mouth, foam at the edge of his lip. He frowns at her. “Mmmmph?” he asks.

She clears her throat and grins, too-wide. “I’m Louis Tomlinson, I’m supposed to meet you guys for the flat?”

His eyes widen and she hears a shout of “shit!” from somewhere down the hall. 

She laughs, ducking her chin. “If you need a minute…” she offers.

The guy looks amused and grins around his toothbrush as he steps aside, letting her walk in. He gestures at his mouth and then toward a door that she presumes is the bathroom, and she nods.

She looks around. It’s less messy than she expected; there are clothes on the floor, but no more than she’s left around Zayn’s this week. It doesn’t smell awful, either -- Louis catches sight of a bottle of Febreze sat on the coffee table and a wall plug-in just outside the kitchen. It’s possible, she realizes with a small amount of horror, that she isn’t clean enough to live with these guys. She’s suddenly very glad she’d borrowed her favorite perfume of Zayn’s before coming over.

The guy walks back in, frowning. He’s still got foam at the edge of his lip but he otherwise looks well put-together, hair tied at the back of his neck in a loose bun. 

Louis doesn’t let herself stare at it too long; he’s pretty but the last thing she needs is for him to think her a total creep. 

He reaches out a hand. “’m Harry,” he mumbles, slow.

She shakes his hand and can’t help her laugh. “Harry Stylish?”

He rolls his eyes but he looks pleased with himself. It’s only moderately endearing. “It’s Styles, actually.”

“You’re an idiot,” she tells him and immediately regrets it, but he’s still grinning even after it’s out of her mouth. On a whim, she pulls him into a hug that he folds easily into, arms loose around her. “Mm,” she says, breathing in. He smells like cologne and toothpaste. She grins when she steps back. “Can’t live with people who don’t know how to hug,” she says, leaning in like it’s a secret. “Then who’ll comfort me in my time of need?”

“Time of need?” Harry asks, but then there’s a shout behind her, more an exclamation of surprise than actual words. She whirls around.

“Oi!” a brown-haired boy is shouting, pushing at a small guy. “Get off me, we’ve got a guest!”

“Niall,” the blonde one says with barely a glance at her. He looks up properly after a second, with a raised eyebrow. “You’re fit,” he says.

Louis turns pink and looks at the ground again. It’s been ages since a comment like that got her nervous, but she doesn’t linger on the thought for too long. “Thanks,” she says quickly, but she can feel her stupid fucking blush.

“Hey, now,” Harry says, wrapping an arm around her and squeezing her shoulder. He’s tall, taller than Nathan, she notices with a sort of -- idle appreciation, that’s it. “Save the flirting for when she’s gotten to know you, yeah?”

“I’m Liam,” says the last boy with his hand outstretched and a put-upon sigh. Louis takes it with a laugh. He looks so earnest. “I’m, er, sorry for the lads?”

Louis smiles, wide, like she hasn’t for a long time; she’s the friend that people apologize for and Liam reminds her of Zayn, as much as he can after hearing him say a single sentence. “It’s fine,” she says.

Behind her, having finally pulled away from their weird hold, Harry claps his hands. “So!” he says. “Let’s get to know one another, yeah?”

Louis smiles, soft, and takes out her phone to text Zayn.  _ Going to be here awhile, you’re free to go. Not going to kill me. x _

* 

Harry makes dinner for them (egg sandwiches; it’s always breakfast time in the Styles household, he’d told her very sternly, and she isn’t sure if he was joking, he’s just got that sort of humor) and they sit around the tiny kitchen table. Louis pulls her knees up to her chest, and she laughs more than she has in ages. Harry and Niall tell her stories from their years as kids together, and Liam cuts in with his own—the time he broke his knee, the time he’d nearly set his house on fire trying to make brownies.

“Our Liam’s very smart,” Harry says with a nod, “but not so much when it comes to cooking and things. Or school, come to think of it. His is more of a mechanical intelligence.”

Liam rolls his eyes, but Louis can see the fondness there. She grins at the two of them, taking a sip of water.

“So tell us about you!” Harry says, leaning forward. “Who d’you hang out with?”

“Are they fit?” Niall asks. He ignores the jab Harry sends at his ribs.

“Zayn, mostly,” Louis says with a shrug. She pointedly doesn’t mention the model thing; they’ll all want to meet her and then she’ll be kicked out in favor of Zayn moving in, and she very much does not want to live on her own. “She’s my best mate, has been for years. I’ve got five sisters and a brother, but I don’t see them so much anymore? They live in Doncaster.”

Harry nods, like this is all fascinating. “And a boyfriend?” he asks, soft.

Louis tilts her head to the side, doesn’t say anything for a second, pushing the hurt down. “Nah,” she says, keeping her voice upbeat. She grins, wide. “What about you lot? Am I going to have to invest in really good earmuffs?”

Niall starts teasing Liam, poking him in the side, but Louis can’t look away from Harry for more than a few seconds at a time. He’s studying her, softly considering. It makes her chest feel tight, like he can see through her, all the way to the bits that still hurt from Nathan. (It’s not that he left her; it’s that he didn’t leave her, that he wanted her and someone else—not that she wasn’t right but that she wasn’t enough—that makes her stomach feel like it’s turning inside out.)

Liam and Niall get up to play a game of FIFA after a while. Liam invites Louis but she’s tired, wants to sit and watch them. Harry comes to sit next to Louis, knocking his knee against hers.

She smiles at him. “You’re always like this, then?”

He shrugs. “Depends what you mean.”

She frowns, thinking. “You’re so open with each other. Comfortable. Like…” She waves her hands.  _ Like I was with Nathan _ , she doesn’t say. It hurts despite it.

Harry nods, though, like he understands all the things she is and isn’t saying. “We are,” he says.

She believes him.

* 

“So why are you looking for a flat?” Niall asks. They’re sprawled out over the couch, Louis draped over Harry with her legs next to Liam’s. Niall’s on the end, curled up into himself. He’s got his head cocked.

Louis shrugs, picking at her thumbnail. “Was dating this guy,” she says, not sure how honest to be; she decides to go for broke. “Walked in on him cheating on me. Was staying with a friend, but can’t do that forever, yeah? Gotta move on.” She smiles. (She doesn’t mention the two days she’d spent hoping Nathan would call her, the thirty texts she’s still got saved in her drafts. By now, Zayn’s likely gotten hold of her phone and deleted them anyway.)

Harry’s arm tightens around her. “Dick,” he breathes.

She rolls her eyes. It’s easier to talk about, now, so long as she sticks to surface hurt and not what lies just beneath. “I’m, uh.” She laughs, a little self-deprecating. “I’m probably going to watch  _ Grease  _ a few times in the next few days. Just—so you know.”

“Is that the one with the flying car?” Niall asks, waving his arms in some approximation of it.

Louis laughs, the moment broken, the tears back from behind her eyes. “Yeah,” she breathes. She’s so, so tired. She leans her head against Harry’s shoulder.

“Someone’s comfortable,” Liam murmurs, amused, but he’s shushed.

Louis drifts in and out. The boys talk around her, comfortable with one another in the way that means they’ve known each other forever and don’t have secrets anymore.

“What do you think?” Harry asks after a while.

There’s a beat.

“I like her,” Niall says. “She’s fun and loud.”

“Mmm,” Liam says. “Seems like she’d be a good flatmate.”

“Really?” Louis asks, sitting up so quickly it makes her head spin. She blinks, hand against her neck. They just stare at her, and Harry looks like he’s fighting a smile. She winces, more for show than anything else. “She’s, uh, also awake,” she says, laughing.

“So when d’you want to move in?” Niall asks.

Louis smiles.

* 

She doesn’t have too much to move in; she’d gone with Zayn to get the rest of her clothes, but that was about it. She didn’t want to look at Nathan, hadn’t spoken to him beyond perfunctory hellos and goodbyes.  _ I’ll get the rest later _ , she’d told Zayn, and had gotten a hug for it.

She packs it all into five boxes, and sets them down in the empty room, hands on her hips. She’s got her hair up in a knot; it’s hot in the flat. (“The boys like it warm,” Harry’d explained, “and it’s cooler than paying for the air.” She understands, really, but—god damn, is it hot.)

She takes her shirt off, tossing it aside, and lies down on the wood floor. She’s got a bed but it’s not made yet, and anyway she does her best thinking on the floor, she’s always thought.

There’s a cough, and she looks up with a frown. Liam’s looking at her, apprehensive.

She waves an arm at him. “The floor’s fine, if you want to lie here with me.”

He shifts, biting his lip, and then nods.

She laughs, closing her eyes. “You don’t have to. I won’t be offended.”

She’s not expecting him to actually lie down next to her, but he does. She turns to look at him with a smile on her face. “Did you want something?”

He shrugs, staring up at the ceiling. It’s a funny brownish color with a stain in the center of it.

She’s never done well with silence, and it itches at her. She has to say something. “What’s that stain from?” she settles on.

He smiles. “Harry and Niall decided to play baseball with a can of Coke.”

She can’t help the laugh that comes out, and she covers her mouth until it tapers off into giggles. She coughs, ruffling her hair and sitting up. “Smart lads, them.”

“They were pretty plastered,” he says, nodding.

She smiles at him. “And you?”

“I don’t drink.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “Got a bum kidney. Have to be careful with it.”

“Well, you’re no fun, are you,” she says with a laugh.

He doesn’t respond, but sits up so that they’re close, leaning against the metal of her bed.

She turns to look at him, and bumps her shoulder against his, touching a couple fingers to the back of his hand. “Hey,” she says, low and soft, like a secret. “I’m kidding you, yeah?”

His smile is bright, immediate, and blinding. He laces their fingers together and holds on.

“Oi!” comes Zayn’s voice from the hallway. “I’ve got more of your shit!”

Louis stands up, frowning, and walks out. Zayn’s got a box that looks to be filled with DVDs, and she’s grinning, wide.

Liam stops in the doorway. “Um,” he says. Louis can hear his eyes go wide.

Louis laughs, brushing her legs off. “This is Zayn,” she says, walking to her to grab the box, setting it on the couch. She hugs her, tight, and feels inexplicable tears in her eyes.

Zayn laughs, kissing her on the cheek. “Zayn,” she says, and holds out a hand to Liam, who looks a little bit starstruck.

“I’m Liam,” he says, “I live—here.”

“Jesus Christ,” comes Niall’s voice. Louis rolls her eyes, but it’s fond. She’s been living with them for less than two days but she likes them; she knows that this is going to work out, that they’re all going to be close.

Zayn smiles, though, and tilts her head. “And you are?” she asks.

“Niall.” He walks forward as though to kiss her hand, and Louis swats at him. “Only joking. Yeah, I’m Niall. You a model or summat?”

Zayn nods. Louis watches as Liam’s face turns bright red. She has to turn her head to hide her smirk, but she catches eye with Harry and can’t keep the giggles in.

“I’m going to go cook,” she says with a decisive nod, and manages to make it to the kitchen before she’s giggling, hard enough that Harry joins in. They end up on the floor, trading giggles back and forth. It’s nice, lazy; it’s something she’s never had but always wanted.

Harry reaches out to pat her shoulder. “You okay?” he murmurs, eyes shut.

She turns to face him, curled up on her side. “Mm,” she says instead of an answer. She curls up into a ball, looking at him. She can look, when he’s got his eyes shut; she feels strange in her skin doing it but—it doesn’t feel that strange, with Harry.

“I think Liam fancies Zayn,” he says.

She rolls her eyes. “He just thinks she’s hot.”

“Hey,” Harry says, frowning at her. “Liam’s not like that, all right?”

“If you say so,” Louis says, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling. Hopefully none of them think it’s weird. Hopefully, she thinks after a minute, the floor has been washed in the last six months. She doesn’t expect more than that.

“I mean it,” he says, lying down next to her and bumping their shoulders together. “He wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.”

She smiles without looking at him. “Yeah.”

“You don’t have to worry.”

She snorts. “Zayn’s more fragile than she looks, all right? I’m sick of—god.” She sits up, leaning against one of the cabinets. She pulls her knees to her chest. Her nail polish is flaking; she should fix that. “She’s hot, yeah, but a lot of people just see that? And I know Liam’s great but she trusts so easily.”

“I know,” Harry murmurs. It’s nonsensical and placating; anyone else would get a smack around the head but him—she believes him, somehow.

“Anyway, they’ve just met. I know I’m being a tit,” she says. She feels exhausted, bone-tired, and just wants a hug. She leans into his space until he wraps his arm around her and pulls her in close.

He kisses her on the top of the head.

“Guys?”

Liam’s in the doorway, looking supremely uncomfortable. Zayn’s behind him, and she’s got that look on her face, the one that says she’s going to shout at Louis for being irresponsible, or something.

“Hey, Lou,” she says in a sugar-sweet voice, “I need your help with something.”

“No,” Louis says, frowning and leaning more heavily against Harry. She fixes her glasses and glares at Zayn.

“G’head,” Harry says, nudging her.

And, well, she can’t really say no to that. Harry seems comfortable with hugs, she’s sure she can sneak a few more out of him before the day is over. 

She stands up, grumbling.

“We’re going for a walk,” Zayn says, decisive, and reaches out for her hand.

Louis falls into step with her, not saying anything until they’re out of the flat building. “It’s warm,” she finally breaks the silence with.

“Don’t rebound with Harry,” Zayn says.

Louis frowns. “What?”

“Harry. He’s well fit and so are you but—you’re not the casual type. I don’t want you to get hurt, yeah?”

“I’ve never tried casual, though, have I?” Louis asks, tugging her hand away so she can cross her arms over her chest. “Maybe that’s what I’m built for, hmm?”

Zayn just looks at her, slowing down. “You aren’t,” she says. 

And Louis knows that’s true, knows she and Zayn started as casual and ended as – whatever they were, whatever they are, but Zayn was  _ different _ . “I’m not in love with him, though. I hardly know him,” she says. 

Zayn doesn’t call her out on it, which is one of a thousand reasons Louis loves her beyond comprehension. “You might fall in love, though, and imagine how sad it’d be if you had to live with an ex?” she asks. “You’d put glue in all his shoes and, like – put thumbtacks under his wheels.” 

“I would not,” Louis snaps, more serious than that threat really calls for, and she speeds up again, only stopping when she gets to the corner. 

“Hey,” Zayn calls, jogging to catch up with her. She puts a hand on her arm so she has to turn and face her. 

Louis looks away. 

“ _ Hey _ ,” Zayn says again, sharper. “You don’t have to feel bad about being hurt. Nathan—”

“I’m not talking about this,” Louis says, blinking past tears. “I’m not.”

“He hurt you,” Zayn says. “You’re allowed to be hurt.”

“He’s a dick and I’m done with him,” Louis says, shaking her head. “He fucking cheated and I’m fucking done. I don’t  _ care _ .” 

Zayn rests a hand on her arm and then pulls her into a real hug, resting her chin on her shoulder. “I love you,” Zayn says, soft against her hair, “but you’re being a bit of an idiot.”

“It’s been a week,” Louis breathes out, feeling stupid tears on her cheeks. She sniffles, tucking her own face against Zayn’s neck. “I’m done being hurt. Fuck him.”

“You were with him for five years!”

Louis shrugs, twisting her mouth to the side so she won’t cry, nor properly. “I don’t want to hurt.”

“I know,” Zayn says. “I don’t either. Just—promise me you won’t rebound.”

Louis nods, only pulling away so she can wipe her eyes. “Don’t think anyone else would want me, anyway,” she says. It’s pathetic and self-loathing but she feels it because Nathan had her for years and she still wasn’t enough; why would she be enough for anyone else?

“Hey,” Zayn says, but it’s not chastising. She kisses the top of Louis’s head, and then pulls away to look at her. She pulls Louis’s glasses off, wiping her tears away. “You’re fit and fantastic and any boy – or girl – would be lucky to have you. And I love you. And the boys—they love you already. You’ve got a million people and we’re all better than Nathan.”

Louis rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, finally, already going a bit pink like she always does after an outburst of feelings. “Yeah,” she says.

“And I never liked him. Something about his nose.” Zayn shrugs, grinning.

“You loved him!” Louis says, but she’s laughing.

Zayn shrugs. “Semantics, innit?” She hooks their arms together, walking Louis past the way they came.

* 

“You look like shit,” Harry says when she gets back. Zayn’s gone, has a shoot to go to.

Louis shrugs with a thin-lipped smile. “Sorry about that.”

“You need a hug?” he asks.

Louis shakes her head—she always wants a hug but she probably shouldn’t come on too strong—but Harry ignores her. She wants to protest but he feels nice, strong and warm and it makes her heart ache.

She pulls away, shaking her head and feeling close to tears. Again. What the fuck, she  _ never _ cries this much. “I, uh—” she says, and waves a hand. “Bathroom.”

Harry lets her go, though he looks reluctant. Louis is fairly sure she’s not just projecting on that front. She locks the door and sits down on the (disgusting, really, she’s going to have to have a talk with the boys about it) floor, letting herself cry. She’s never been a loud crier, and she’s grateful for it; she doesn’t need anyone checking up on her, thanks much.

It’s a long twenty minutes before she feels like getting up off the floor, and she stares at her reflection. Her face is all red and splotchy, and she rinses it off, trying (and failing) to make herself look presentable.

She breathes out, and feels like an idiot. She’s going to live with these guys, they’re going to see her a lot worse than this.

She steps out, and it smells like caramel and chocolate where before it only smelled like pine. She tilts her head and goes into the kitchen. Harry’s got a ridiculous Kiss the Cook ( _ honestly _ , Harold) apron on, and he’s rinsing his hands off.

She grins, leaning against the doorway into the kitchen. “What’re you doing?”

He shrugs, and smiles at her over his shoulder. “I bake,” he says.

“You’re the perfect man,” she says, and only realizes after how flirty it sounds. ( _ Rebound _ , Zayn’s voice says, and she presses her lips together.)

Harry doesn’t seem to notice, laughing. “Nah,” he says. He turns the water off and grins at her. “Feel better?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, very prim. She hops up onto the table, crossing her ankles.

“All right,” Harry says, shaking his head at her. He pats her cheek when he walks by, but Louis doesn’t read into it. Not much, anyway.

* 

Louis is pretty sure she’s in love after she tries the cookies Harry is baking. “I’m never moving out,” she says with her mouth still full, wide-eyed. “That’s it. I’m going to become a spinster, and you’re never allowed to get married, either.”

Harry laughs, turning pink. “I’m not that good,” he says.

Louis fixes him with a stare. “I lived with my ex for four years,” she says, and forces herself to talk past the hurt in her chest, “and he cooked for me maybe once a year. You’d think I would have learned to cook, then, but,” she shrugs, popping the last bite into her mouth, “I lived mainly on takeaway and easy meals.”

“Jesus,” Harry murmurs, “how are you so fit then?”

Louis turns pink, blinking at him. “I,” she says, feeling weirdly tongue-tied.

“I’m sorry, was that—” Harry starts.

“Hey!” Niall shouts, coming out of his room. “Why didn’t anyone tell me there was baking going on?”

Harry nods toward the kitchen, turning back to Louis. “Was –” he starts.

If he’s going to get worried every time he’s even slightly flirty, Louis may have to punch him. She leans toward him. “It wasn’t inappropriate,” she says, smiling softly.

“This is fuckin’ delicious,” Niall says, and kisses the top of Harry’s head, and then Louis’s.

“I was just telling him that I’m never moving out,” Louis says, stealing the other one out of Niall’s hand, “and he’s not allowed to either.”

“You two could get married,” Niall offers around a mouthful of cookie. “Marriage of baking convenience, or something.”

“I like the sound of that,” Harry says. “It’s being used, but for my talents. As long as she’d clean the bathroom, at least.”

Louis ignores the way her stomach flips. “Fuck off,” she says. “I’m not the one who pisses all over the floor, you can clean that up.” 

Harry bumps their hips together.

* 

“Shit!”

Louis jerks awake with a startled shout. Luckily, it gets mostly muffled into her pillow. It takes her a long minute to remember where she is, even though she’s been here for ten days (give or take), and she slumps back against the pillows. She can’t get back to sleep, though, and gets up, grumbling. She pulls on her robe; apparently it’s “inappropriate” to walk around in just her knickers and a vest. Whatever. Zayn never minded.

“Why are you awake so early?” she asks Liam, who’s lacing up his shoes.

He winces. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

She fills up the kettle and puts the water on to boil, wrinkling her nose. He looks so earnest that she can’t stay mad at him, but still, “Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again, “I sort of – I dropped a clock on my foot.” 

“What?” Louis asks. “Hang on, are you hurt?”

“Nah, I’m just stupid,” he promises. He gets up, stretching.

“Mate,” Louis says, slowly, “what are you doing?”

“I’m going running.”

“At fuck-early in the morning?” she asks, looking out the window. It’s barely six; the sun’s up but not comfortable in the sky just yet. Everything is still sort of foggy.

Liam shrugs, smiling softly. “It’s the best time to run and think.”

Louis nods, and pours her tea.

“I’m out,” Liam says, and then pauses at the door. “Unless you want to come with me?”

“I’ve got tea,” she says, holding up the mug.

“Yeah,” Liam says, and he presses his lips together. “But—I wouldn’t mind waiting a few minutes? If you wanted?”

“Do you want me to?” she asks. She’s a little surprised.

“I think it might be good for you to think a little bit,” he says. “Running always helps me with that. You don’t have to, but –”

She bites her lip and nods before he can finish, looking down and taking a tentative sip. “Ten minutes?” she asks.

Liam smiles. “Yeah.”

* 

They start off jogging, a light, easy pace that Louis gets comfortable with quickly. She didn’t bring headphones, or anything, and it’s quiet enough that she’s almost uncomfortable.

“Liam—” she starts.

“Shut up,” he tells her. It’s not kind, exactly, but it isn’t mean.

She relaxes her shoulders and keeps running, keeping pace with him. Every time she starts thinking—really thinking—she wants to say something but the looks Liam’s giving her—well, she really shouldn’t interrupt his thoughts.

He cheated, she thinks, and starts running faster, wanting to—something, needing to get past this, somehow. Liam matches her pace easily and she pushes past him, to her limit, like when she’s running in football, everything down to—

“Louis!”

At that, she crumples, falling onto the cement gracelessly. She’s going to have scratches later but she doesn’t mind. Her head feels clearer than it has in days. If she hadn’t just fallen, she might be worried about a concussion.

Liam stands over her, looking worried. “You all right?”

She smiles at him. “Yeah,” she says, and means it. She’s covered in sweat and disgusting (Nathan always hated her after footie games, wouldn’t kiss her until she’d had a shower, and it almost doesn’t hurt to think about it) but she doesn’t care, feels better than she has since she saw him and—the girl, whoever she was.

“I think we need to get you home,” Liam says, looking fond. “And maybe not quite so fast. I haven’t run like that in a while.”

“Afraid you’re going to get beat by a girl?” Louis asks, but she’s laughing and, after a second of anxious looking over her, so is he.

He rolls his eyes at her, holding out a hand. “Come on.” 

* 

Harry and Niall are at the table when they get back. Harry looks at her and his face does something complicated before he wrinkles his nose. “Don’t tell me we’ve got two runners living here,” he grumbles. “Make me feel even worse about my sedentary lifestyle.” He takes a bite of cereal, making a face at her for emphasis.

Louis smiles. “Not a runner,” she says, “footie player.”

“I golf,” Niall says with a shrug. “Technically a sport but not particularly physically demanding. Makes me feel better than Harry, at any rate.”

Harry grumbles into his cereal and after a moment starts humming. Louis stifles her giggles.

“You know, I feel a little bit better now,” Liam says where he’s collapsed on the couch. “Was worried I was getting out of shape.”

Louis rolls her eyes. “You’re incredibly in shape,” she says, and walks to Harry, taking a sip of tea despite his protests (his protests amount to waving a hand at her). “That’s disgusting,” she tells him.

“I am not,” Liam mumbles. She ignores him.

“If you think it’s so disgusting,” Harry tells her, taking it back, “then don’t drink my tea.” He wrinkles his nose. “Also, you’re sweaty. Eurgh.”

She gives him a hug, and he stiffens and goes quiet before trying to shake himself out of her hold. “Shower!” he insists.

She rolls her eyes. “Fine.” She takes another sip (“Disgusting!”) and walks to the shower, humming to herself.

* 

She brings Eleanor over one evening. The lads are out (Liam’s the designated driver; as much as he complains, Louis is pretty sure he enjoys taking care of the boys, and after a few minutes of googling she’s  _ pretty sure _ that he could drink if he wanted to) and they get spectacularly drunk, sitting on the couch.

“Nathan is an idiot,” Eleanor tells her, pointing at her, eyes wide. “You’re great.”

Louis laughs, leaning her head back. “Not great enough for him to stay.” Not like Eleanor; they’d dated at uni but stayed friends with hardly a missed beat. She misses her on occasion, but she’d rather have this – friendship, or whatever it is, than get to kiss her again.

It occurs to her that she’s hooked up with at least half of her mates, and the thought makes her giggle, pressing her mouth against the couch.

“Because he’s an idiot!” Eleanor leans back and drains the bottle, wincing and swaying when she stands up. “Do you have anything else?”

Louis shakes her head, closing her eyes. “No,” she says. “Have a bed, though. Want to sleep.” 

“We should do something.” Eleanor sits up, pulling Louis’s hands away from her face. “Come on! I’m going back to uni next week, we haven’t done anything fun in forever!”

Louis shakes her head. “I’m tired!” she insists, laughing and pulling away.

Eleanor lies on top of her. “I’ll sleep on top of you,” she warns.

Joke’s on her, Louis wasn’t planning on getting up for a blanket  _ anyway _ . “Mmm,” she murmurs, getting her arms around her. “Whatever.”

* 

“I should’ve stayed home!”

Louis wakes up with a grumble, glaring at Niall without opening her eyes very much. “Shove off,” she whispers. Eleanor’s draped over her, still asleep (the bastard—she can sleep through anything, drunk or sober).

Niall’s eyes are wide, staring at her. “Uh,” he says.

Louis rolls her eyes and sits up, holding her head and shoving El over. “How was your night?” she asks, muffled through her hands.

“It was great!” Harry shouts, doing some weird shimmy thing through the doorway. He bites his lip when he sees El and stage-whispers “bloody fantastic, I drank a lot.”

“I can see that,” Louis mutters, and breathes out, standing up and stretching her back. Probably good they woke her up; her back hurts and it’s only been a couple of hours. “We – we did too, but we ran out of beer. We need more liquor,” she tells Harry, pouting.

“Who’s that?” Niall asks, nodding toward Eleanor.

“My friend,” Louis says, “Eleanor.”

At her name, El sits up, mouth open. “What?” she asks around a yawn, and then she winces. “Fuck,” she whispers.

“I told you not to drink the last of it,” Louis tells her, rolling her eyes.

“You did not!”

“I told you to let me drink the rest of it, it’s the same thing.” Louis waves a hand at her.

“Why are all of your friends fit?” Niall asks, too loud.

“Shut up,” Louis and Eleanor say at the same time, and then laugh. Louis flops down next to her, pressing her face into Eleanor’s shoulder. “Never again,” she groans.

Niall sits down next to them. “I’m Niall,” he says.

Eleanor looks at him and fixes him with—if Liam’s expression across the room is anything to go by—a glare that Louis wouldn’t want to be on the other end of. Stupid, stupid boy, trying to wake her up and then hit on her in the same breath. “Pleasure,” she says, in a voice that suggests anything but.

Niall smiles, and swallows, and stays. 

Louis shakes her head, standing up. “’m going to bed,” she says.

Harry shimmies his way over to her, resting a hand on her waist and tugging her into some weird – if anyone else were doing it she’d call it a dance, but he’s too uncoordinated for that word to apply to him. “No!” he shouts. “You’ve got to dance with me!”

She puts a hand in front of his face, laughing despite herself. “I’m  _ tired _ , Harry.”

“But!” he shouts, and drops off. He grins at her. “I can get you more alcohol,” he says, dragging out the last word.

She tilts her head at him, and nearly falls over. Still drunk, then. “No,” she says, firm. “I’m running with Liam tomorrow.”

“I’m taking that as permission to wake you up using any means necessary,” Liam says, and drops a kiss onto her forehead. “Let her go, Haz.”

He does, with a theatrical grumble that makes Louis’s stomach twist, and she heads off to bed.

_ cuddle _ , she types out on her phone in a message to Harry, and sends it without another thought.

She’s asleep when her head hits the pillow.

* 

“Louis Tomlinson!”

She sits up with a shout, nearly hitting her head on her headboard. “The fuck?”

Liam’s standing in her doorway, looking cross. “We’re going. Now.”

Her head hates her. Her everything hates her. Luckily, she’s never been a puker. “No,” she grumbles, lying back down and pulling the covers over her head.

“You promised!” he insists, pulling them off of her. “I’ll sing in your ear,” he warns.

She sighs, and stays where she is.

“You love me when I ain’t sober,” he raps, right against her fucking ear, “you love me when—”

“Fine!” she says, sitting up and pulling on her glasses. She glares at him. “I’m up. Happy?”

He hands her a mug of tea with a grin.

“I will kill you,” she tells him.

They’ve only been living together a few weeks but he just shrugs it off. “Nah, you won’t.”

“I miss when you were susceptible to my insults,” she groans. She takes a sip and cracks her neck. “Ten minutes?”

“Five.”

“Jesus Christ, Payne.”

“Ten, then. Fine.” He smiles at her. “And then we’re off!”

* 

She’s sluggish and feels like shit when they’re actually running, but when she gets back and collapses on the couch she feels at least a bit better.

“See?” Liam says, entirely too smug for the morning. “Told you that you wouldn’t mind.”

“Piss off,” she snaps. From the other end of the couch, Eleanor stirs.

“Hey,” Liam whispers, and nods at her. “Can I talk to you?”

She raises her eyebrow at him. “Sure, Kanye.”

“My musical tastes are none of your concern,” he tells her.

She smiles, wide. “You’re just so prim and proper—shit, Li, you don’t even drink and you’re singing about hooking up in the club and—”

“I have a serious thing to talk about!” he insists.

She nods, and follows him into his room. He sits on his bed. She straddles his desk chair, raising her eyebrow at him.

“I think Niall and Eleanor shagged.”

“What the fuck,” she breathes. “No.”

“He’s not a bad guy!”

“I know he isn’t,” she says, crossing her arms. “But she’s—and he’s—”

“I think he genuinely likes her,” Liam says. His eyes are wide and he looks earnest. “Honestly.”

“He doesn’t know her.”

“They talked for hours after you went to bed.”

Louis narrows her eyes at him. “You were up for that? Did you  _ hear _ them –?”

“No, I woke up when Niall nearly sat on me and started talking about her.” He rolls his eyes.

She breathes out, leaning back. “That’s it,” she says, “I’m getting less fit friends. Friends that I haven’t ever dated.”

Liam looks, for a second, like he’s going to ask what she’s on about, but instead he just rolls his eyes at her.

*

Eleanor gets up at one in the afternoon and starts grumbling, so Louis takes her out to breakfast.

“I’ll come!” Niall says, smiling too wide, and Louis sends a panicked look to Harry.

He grabs Liam. “We’ll go, too,” he says. (He’s entirely too composed for how drunk he’d been last night; Louis still feels like she’s been hit by a bus and hasn’t done anything with her hair other than putting it in a knot, and she’d just rolled her eyes at her contact lenses, putting on her old glasses that don’t flatter her face at all.)

Niall looks a bit scared but nods, and claps his hands. “Let’s go!”

Eleanor and Louis groan in unison. Harry presses a smacking kiss to Louis’s face and she wants to smack him.

She only starts to feel her tiredness when they get to the restaurant. She orders toast and yawns, leaning against Harry’s shoulder. Eleanor’s giving her some sort of look, but she’s too tired to parse it out.

“You want to eat?” Harry asks her when their food gets there.

She shakes her head, burrowing against his shoulder. “Too tired,” she whispers. “Liam made me run.”

“To be fair, it was her idea,” Liam points out.

“I was drunk!” she insists, opening her eyes just enough to glare at him.

“Drunk decisions are the most honest,” Niall says, quirking his eyebrow at her. “After all—”

“I will give you my toast if you shut up right now,” she breathes.

“Fair enough!” he says, and takes her plate from her.

She brings her knees up onto the booth and cuddles against Harry. He wraps his arm around her. It’s warm, and nice. She hasn’t felt this way since—

“Oh,” she breathes. “I, uh.” She sits up. “I think I have to throw up.”

She doesn’t, but she needs to get out, to think.

She gets into the bathroom and dials Zayn, hands shaking.

“What?” Zayn asks, sounding perturbed. “I’m at—”

“Do I fancy Harry?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I was—and, I don’t know, I felt like I did with Nathan? And I don’t know—”

“Louis,” Zayn murmurs. There’s a rustling sound, and then Zayn’s voice, calmer, more sure. “Calm down, sweetie.”

“I can’t fancy him, I live with him.”

“Maybe you don’t.” Zayn’s voice is still soothing. Louis loves her a lot right now. “Maybe you just fancy how nice he is to you.”

Louis licks her lips, and nods. “Yeah.”

“So please, please don’t be an idiot because you’re hurting.”

“I know.”

“And don’t you dare rebound until you’re  _ sure _ about fancying him.”

“I won’t!” She clicks her phone shut without saying goodbye, regrets it, sends a text that says  _ soz, I love you, thanks x _ and goes back to her table.

“Everything okay?” Harry asks.

Louis nods. “Threw up a little bit, but I’m feeling better.” She winces, looking at Harry. “I won’t lean against you, don’t worry.”

“I promise, I’ve had worse on me.” Harry laughs, and pulls her close.

Eleanor stares at her from across the table. Louis feels her stomach drop. Niall demands her attention, though, and Louis closes her eyes again.

* 

“You don’t get sick,” Eleanor says.

Louis glares at her through her mirror. “Maybe I do.”

Eleanor shrugs, leaning back against Lou’s bed. “Are you mad at me?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” she asks, sitting down in her chair, heavy. “Just—”

“Because of me and Niall,” she says, slow and easy.

Louis whirls around. “What do you mean, you and Niall?”

Eleanor’s mouth falls open. “I,” she says. “We—”

“You slept together,” Louis says. Liam was right. Huh. In the light of her new – revelation, or whatever, she’s not as surprised as maybe she should be.

“Don’t be mad!”

Louis frowns. “I’m not mad.”

“Really?” Eleanor asks, and she turns pink. “Because—I think I might, you know—really like him.”

“Good for you,” Louis says, and kicks her softly in the shin.

“So why’d you really run off, then?”

“Zayn called me,” she says, and feels horrible for lying, but she can’t—can’t talk to anyone but Zayn about this. Not until she’s sure how she feels.

“If you say so,” Eleanor says, sounding amused, but she thankfully lets it go.

She leaves a little later; she needs to shower, and  _ apparently _ the conditioner Louis keeps isn’t good enough for her.

* 

“I’m going out to Nandos,” Niall says, leaning against her doorframe.

Louis looks up at him over her glasses. “All right,” she says. “Have fun.” 

“Do you want to come with?” He shifts a bit, looking guilty.

Louis frowns at him. “Why’re you being so weird?”

“Er—”

“Is this about you and El?”

“I—Liam talked to me, and—”

Louis frowns. “What are you talking about?” she snaps, and then laughs a bit. “Oh. I—I don’t care if you two – do whatever you like, Niall.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” She shrugs. “Though if you’d like to secure my favor with a nice meal, I wouldn’t say no.”

“Come on,” he says, tugging her up so she’s standing. “Can get whatever you like.” 

*

Louis walks into the bakery one morning in July, before it’s sweltering out, and hears the bell tingle, which strikes her as being very sweet and very Harry. “Blueberry muffin, please,” she says when she walks up to the register, crossing her arms and leaning over the counter. “If you have it. If not, y’can just -- whatever you have on hand that you think I’d like.” 

Harry’s standing there, bag of icing in hand and flour on his cheek. “You came,” he says, grinning. 

“Yes,” Louis says. “Wasn’t getting enough of your pastries at home. Is that what they are? Pastries?” She frowns. “And Niall finished off the cupcakes. Now, choose something good or I’m moving out.” 

“Bastard,” Harry says, shaking his head. “I’ve got a few muffins in the oven if you want. No blueberry, but chocolate and banana nut. It’ll be a few minutes, d’you want anything while you wait?” 

“Hot cocoa,” Louis says, smiling at him. She goes a little bit pink; sue her, Harry’s very pretty and it’s early. Whatever. “Please.”

“I’ll bring it out to you, love,” Harry says, and smiles like Louis is sure he smiles at all the girls, biting his lip. 

(It’s delicious; everything Harry touches is delicious. 

She lasts approximately one second before wondering if the same goes for his come, and then has to text Zayn that very question. 

fuck off, Zayn sends back, I think this means you fancy him, or else you’ve got an abnormally high sex drive. 

As though Zayn knows. Louis scoffs, putting her phone away.)

*

Eleanor’s a bit taller than Niall, and she’s more subdued where he’s brash. She comes out drinking with them, but when she gets plastered it’s more quiet, cuddly; she leans into everyone’s spaces and tries to sing at whoever she’s with (“you’re fit as fuck,” Niall tells her, very seriously, “but if you don’t stop with the Girls Just Want to Have Fun I’m going to have to reevaluate our relationship,” and that would mean something but for the way Eleanor smirks at him, pulls him close to whisper in his ear, and—well, Louis is pretty sure she’s going to keep walking in on the two of them naked for a while).

It’s nice, though, is the thing; nice to have another girl around the flat, even when she’s wearing Niall’s big shirts and smelling like sex. She’s a proper model. It makes Louis feel insecure on the best of days (for a week she tries dieting, but then Harry bakes cookies and calls her an idiot and she’s not inhuman, all right) but—that’s Eleanor, that’s  _ all _ her friends.

The summer breaks and Eleanor’s still there, still with Niall. Louis breaks out her brightly colored tights and dark boots, wears gloves even in the house (because, as it turns out, their heating system is shit—Harry tries to fix it but seems to only have made it worse). She takes to sitting wrapped in all of her blankets, getting ready for the new school year to start.

*

Harry walks into her room, carrying a mug of tea and smiling like he wants something. She takes off her glasses and takes the mug, raising her eyebrow at him. “What d’you want?”

“I need you to pretend to be my date for something,” he says.

She blinks at him, taking a sip of tea. It’s made the way she likes it, strong and bitter with only a bit of milk. She smiles at him over the rim. “All right, then. When’s it?”

He opens his mouth and just looks at her a minute. “Really?”

She shrugs, stretching her back and letting it crack. “S’long as I don’t have anything else going on. Do I need to dress nicely?”

“It’s a wedding,” he says.

She blinks at him again. “Oh,” she says, and very carefully doesn’t think about spending time at a bloody wedding with the bloke she may or may not fancy. Closer to may, actually, now that she thinks about it. She swallows, and nods.

“I know, it’s—” He sits at the side of her bed and rests a hand on her knee, looking at her imploringly. “Caroline’s going to be there,” he says.

“Caroline?” She raises her eyebrow at him. “Are we setting you up?” 

“My ex. We, uh—we dated for a while” He messes with his hair, fluffing it up, and she slaps at his hand until he stops. “We split up a month before you left, I think?”

She twists her mouth, grinning into her tea. “Why didn’t you say anything about her before?”

“Easier not to talk about it, you know?” He shrugs, slow and long. “And I just—I need you, Lou.”

“All right,” she says. “I’ll do it. On one condition.”

He winces.

“You have to dance with me to one fast song.”

He smiles, hesitance gone. “You won’t be able to keep me from the dance floor, Tomlinson.”

And if her heart flutters, well—she tamps it down with another sip of tea.

* 

She gets home, her first day teaching, to an argument.

“You’re wrong!” Harry shouts, and there’s the sound of something dropping and breaking.

Louis frowns, tossing her things to the side and going into the kitchen. She’s derailed by the biscuits sitting on the stove. “Yes,” she says, grabbing one.

“Put that down,” Niall says, arms crossed.

She frowns, biscuit halfway to her mouth. “Why?”

“Niall’s an idiot. You can eat it.” Harry rolls his eyes.

She looks between the two of them. “Is this your way of drugging me? Because I’m really, really not down with that.”

“I just think you should know what you’re eating,” Niall says, crossing his arms.

She nods. “All right, then. Lay it on me.”

“It’s got raisins in.” Niall pulls a face.

Louis tilts her head at him. “You’re telling me you’ll eat everything under the sun but raisins?”

“Oh, lord,” Harry says, rolling his eyes.

“Yes!” Niall says, ignoring Harry. “They’re gross and wrinkly and they ruin anything you put them in.”

“You know, Eleanor loves raisins,” Louis says. It’s not even a lie; back at uni she’d snack on them all throughout exams.

Niall looks at her, shoulders slumping. “I knew she couldn’t be perfect,” he says, walking out of the room.

Louis giggles. Harry bumps shoulders with her. She kisses his arm.

It’s all very, very nice.

* 

Harry picks her up from school on Friday; they’re going to head down to the wedding and stay the night at some fancy hotel that they can only afford because they’re splitting the bill between the four of them.

He knocks at her door at half past three, and she jumps a foot in the air. “Jesus,” she says, and laughs. “Just let me finish this, yeah?”

Harry sits down on one of the kids’ tables. She looks at him, smirking. “You’re making it unsanitary. I have the kids clean that once a week for that reason.”

“Mmmm.” He tilts his head back and she swallows, only glances at his jaw for a second before she focuses back on her lesson plans. “You ever shag in a school?”

He says it in an almost casual voice; for a second, Louis thinks she’s misheard him, and then she sees the look on his face.

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “No,” she says, and then bites her lip when Harry gives her a look. “Or – it depends on your definition of  _ shag _ , I guess.”

“You dirty girl!” Harry says, managing to sound absolutely scandalized.

She laughs. “Come on. You wouldn’t fuck in the bakery?”

He’s tellingly silent. “Well, I don’t spend my whole day with kids when I’m at the bakery, am I?”

She slowly crumples up a piece of paper, and then throws it at him. “Fuck off,” she says, giggling. 

There’s silence for another moment.

“Did you throw something at me?” he asks, voice low.

She looks at him, eyes wide. “I’m sorry? I’m working on my schoolwork. See, I have a real job, and –”

“You little shit,” Harry says, and then he throws the ball of paper back at her.

“No!” she insists, laughing, and chucks her entire can of pens at—well,  _ at _ him but her aim is so shit that she’s not worried about him actually being hurt. She ducks under her desk when he tries to get toward her, pulling the chair in front of her.

He squats down, glaring, but she’s got herself wedged in such a way that he can’t reach her. “Ha!” she says, triumphant.

He looks murderous for a second. He grabs her ankle and pulls, hard. She goes down but not without a fight, arms swinging as much as they can while under a desk, and she’s laughing so hard she goes absolutely silent.

Harry stands over her, hands on his hips. “You’re a menace,” he tells her.

She smiles. Her hair’s a mess, probably, and she doesn’t want to think about her make-up, but he’s still looking at her with fondness in his eyes.

She closes her own, standing up by herself. “Better get going then, yeah?” She walks too fast.

He stops her with a hand on her shoulder. “Hey. You okay?” he murmurs.

“’m fine,” she says, leaning into his touch for a moment. “Come on, though, we’ve got a five hour drive ahead of us.”

“Yeah, all right.” He keeps his hand there. Louis doesn’t mention it, doesn’t want him to move.

* 

The four of them are sharing a room, two beds.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Louis offers, twisting her strap around. “I mean—I’ll share with any of you lot, honestly, but if you’re going to be tossers—”

“That’s all right,” Harry says, and wraps his arm around her. “I’ll share with you.”

Niall snorts, and busies himself unpacking. Liam just smiles at the two of them.

“We’re going to be dates to this thing, right?” Harry says. Louis nods. “We have to be accurate about it, you know? What if the bride’s got cameras in all the rooms? Be a shame to fuck up then.”

“I’m glad you take your role with me so seriously.” Louis bumps his shoulder. “But that’s absolutely illegal, I hope you know.”

Harry laughs, and shakes his head, and gets back to unpacking.

* 

Harry is the worst cuddler Louis has ever slept with (and she’s slept with Eleanor, who lies so closely it’s hard to breathe).

“Harry,” she whispers, pushing at him. He shakes his head, nudging his head closer to hers, and nuzzles her neck. “Harry, I swear to god.”

“Mmm?” he whispers, blinking at her.

She has possibly never wanted to kiss someone so much in her life.

The thought hits her hard, and she has to swallow, dry, before smiling. “You’re crushing me,” she whispers.

“I don’t like sleeping alone,” he tells her.

She frowns. “You don’t have to sleep alone,” she says, “just don’t sleep  _ on me _ .” 

He rolls his eyes. “You come here, then.” He drags her over so she’s cuddling him, instead, her head resting on his chest.

She sucks in a breath and then lies there, perfectly still.

Harry falls asleep too quickly, breaths evening out into little snuffles. Louis isn’t so lucky, her heart racing too hard for her to focus on sleep.

* 

Harry’s there when she wakes up.

Like – right there, his face not but a foot from hers. He’s eating a banana and staring at her.

She starts, pulling the blankets up and over her head. “No,” she tells him, firm.

“What?” He’s laughing around a bite, and she hears him clap once before he collapses on top of her, holding her tight under the sheets.

“Too early,” she grumbles.

“It’s ten in the morning!”

She gets out of her cocoon only long enough to stare at him, long and hard. “Harold Addison Stylish, ten am is not an acceptable time to be awake.”

“You’re not even hungover!” he protests.

She collapses backwards again, flailing her arms and kicking a bit. It’s—yeah, she should fight, but she’s awake now and Harry’s looking so earnest. “Five minutes of cuddling, and I’ll get up,” she says, pointing at him.

His grin is fucking blinding. She’d hate herself for the cliché if she weren’t caught breathless by it. “Yeah,” he says.

* 

Turns out there’s really nothing to do in the middle of nowhere; they walk around, but that gets old really fucking quickly. Liam and Niall are out doing big, important things (“Niall needs a new undershirt and Liam’s the only one with patience,” Harry says with a laugh) so Louis and Harry have got the day to themselves.

It’s almost uncomfortably domestic. They get ice cream and sit in a nearly empty park; it’s autumn now, the leaves starting to change, and it’s cold enough that Louis presses herself against Harry, tells herself it’s just for warmth.

Harry kisses the top of her head, and her heart clenches a bit, because that – it isn’t just for warmth, and she doesn’t really want it to be.

* 

“All right, I have something to tell you,” Harry says, eyes serious.

Louis looks away from the mirror, putting her lipstick down. “Yeah?”

“It’s very important,” he says with a nod.

She smiles, leaning against the sink. “Yeah?” she says again, raising an eyebrow at him.

“You’re probably going to see some things… things I’m not proud of,” he begins, slow as ever. It’s going to be a long story. “I—”

“He fuckin’ cries at weddings!” Niall shouts through the door, and winks at Lou. “Looking good.”

She winks back, nodding. “Thanks,” she says around a laugh. She turns back to Harry. “You cry at weddings?”

He nods, quick.

“I’ll make sure to pack tissues,” she tells him, endlessly fond.

* 

He really does cry, harder than Louis has seen him cry at anything, ever. She hands him a tissue, pulling him close. He presses his face against her shoulder.

“You’re okay,” she murmurs, though she isn’t sure how well he knows the couple, or if he’s just an extremely loving person. An elderly woman turns, shushing her, and Louis mouths sorry.

“I just love love,” he says on a sigh, and presses a kiss to her neck, almost lazy. There’s her answer to her question.

She makes herself smile at him, work past the horrible tightening in her chest, and she shoves her shoulder against him. “Sap.”

“Cynical, aren’t we?” he goes, smirking at her.

She shrugs. “Maybe a bit.”

“I think,” and he whispers this next bit, as people are beginning to glare, “you just need someone to teach you the meaning of love.”

“Oh, god,” she groans, shaking her head. “You’re worse than a Christmas card, I swear.”

He just laughs.

* 

The thing is, Louis doesn’t know anyone at this fucking thing except Harry, Niall, Liam, and Eleanor. She’s clinging to Harry like a lifeline, but he knows everyone or at least pretends to, and finally she begs off, sitting by herself at the side of the room.

Liam walks up to her. “You don’t seem the type to sit alone at weddings.”

She shrugs. She’s a little bit tipsy on the expensive champagne the bride and groom—belatedly, she realizes she’s not entirely sure either of their names—and feeling melancholy with it. “Dance with me,” she says, holding out her hand.

Liam laughs, and nods, twirling her once she stands. “You okay?” he asks when she nearly falls.

She grins at him then, feeling giddy with it; she’s always better when she has people to bounce off of, to indulge her. “Yeah.”

She does some truly wonderful moves, and Liam spends half the time laughing at her. She’s in the middle of a spin when she hears “… my girlfriend, Louis,” and she nearly falls over (but Liam, bless him, catches her).

“Hi,” she says. There appear to be two women standing in front of her, but on closer look they merge into one beautiful woman. She’s tall and curvy, brown hair that’s in an updo Louis wishes she could pull off. “I’m Louis.”

“Caroline,” the woman says. Her voice is deeper than Zayn’s, even, and sounds like she’s at the edge of a laugh. “I, er—used to date Haz, here.” She squeezes Harry’s shoulder.

“I date him, now,” Louis says with a nod. She’s lucky; she gets uncomfortably honest on champagne at times.

Caroline swallows, and then waves at the both of them. “I’ve got to go—er—” She shrugs, and leaves with another wave.

Louis focuses on Harry. She’s a little bit drunk, but she can tell there’s something wrong. “Y’okay?” she asks.

Harry grins at her, bright and blinding and false. “I want to dance,” he says.

Louis doesn’t have the heart to call him out on anything.

* 

They find Niall and Eleanor in the photobooth.

They’re taking truly disgusting pictures together, giggling into each other’s mouths and laughing hysterically, and Louis’s heart aches. She’s got Harry’s hand in hers and it’s so easy to pretend—he’s lovely and fit and makes her feel like—like he likes (loves) her back, in the way she wants him to.

She smiles, though, past the hurt, and raps at the edge of the booth. “Oi! Other people want a turn!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eleanor says, getting out. She grins at Louis, winking, and pulls Niall after her. “Let’s find a closet,” she whispers, just loud enough for Louis to hear.

“God, you’re hot,” Niall says, and they’re giggling, hurrying away.

Louis crawls into the booth, leaning against the wall and waiting for Harry. “We should take some pictures,” she says. “Commemorate the night.”

Harry nods.

They take a few sheets of normal ones, smiles and funny faces, and Louis is—suddenly, inexplicably tired.

“Nap,” she whispers, and falls asleep on Harry’s shoulder.

She wakes up to Harry’s soft voice and a hand prodding at her; gentle, ever so gentle.

She doesn’t notice Harry pocketing the top sheet of pictures before handing the rest to her.

*

“Caroline’s single again,” he mumbles to her that night, when they’re in bed like this is something they do, and – Louis hates that she’s not going to want to sleep alone, now, because she can’t come up with an excuse to share with him every night.

She frowns at him, sitting up on her elbow. He’s got his eyes closed but his body is tense, taut. “Why don’t you go get her, then? Ask her out?”

He looks at her. “’m here with you,” he whispers, sleep-slow.

She smiles, and it hurts, but she says, “If you want to, you should get her. Can tell her that I dumped you, that –”

“No,” he whispers, and pulls her down until she’s against the sheets again. Her heart races, and her mouth falls open. “Now, just… sleep here, okay? Stay with me. Want you here.”

She nods, and presses a trembling kiss to his forehead. “Yeah.”

* 

Harry drives them back to Brixton. He’s got The Lumineers playing and he’s singing along under his breath, drumming his fingers on the wheel.

Louis looks at him and her heart flops around in her chest.

“I belong with you, you belong with me,” he sings to her, giving her a wink.

She rolls her eyes and chimes in with “and my sweet-heaaart,” and the way he giggles makes her heart twist again.

She turns it down and puts her feet up on the dashboard, ignoring the way he wrinkles his nose at her. “I don’t want to go back to teaching,” she groans.

He laughs. “It’s only a month into term!”

She shrugs. “The kids are hard.”

“They’re in primary school!” He glares at her. “Now, try working in a bakery.” He points at her, not even looking at the road.

“Eyes,” she says. He rolls his, but puts his hand back on the wheel, looking forward. “All you have to do is bake! I’ve got real work to do. Real work that I went to uni for.”

He scoffs. “You just have to make sure the kids don’t choke one another!”

She snorts. “Have you met children? It’s not that easy.”

He laughs, shaking his head, but he lets it go. Louis leans back again, keeping her feet up, and drifts off. Harry keeps singing, as it switches to HAIM and then Dashboard Confessional (seriously, he’s got the weirdest taste), always quiet, mindful of Lou.

“Lou,” he whispers, shoving at her shoulder.

She opens her eyes and grins at him, soft and sleepy.

“Morning,” he says, a laugh at the edge of his voice.

She stretches. He watches her, and she swallows at the way his eyes follow her. Caroline, she thinks, reminds herself, and she’s the first to look away. “You should call her,” she says, getting out of the car and grabbing her bag from the boot.

He frowns at her. “What?” He grabs his bag, lifts it over his shoulder, tilts his head at her. His hair falls over his forehead. She wants to push it back (god, she wants him to hold her tight, kiss her until she can’t breathe—but, but).

“Caroline,” she says, and smacks him on the bum, winking at him. “She’s single, you’re single. Good time, yeah?”

“I don’t want her back,” Harry says, slow like Louis is an idiot. “She wants to, she said we could, but – told her that I wasn’t interested. I just didn’t want her to… I don’t know. See me single. I shouldn’t have…” He trails off. “Asked you to be my – girlfriend, or whatever.”

And maybe she’s not been careful enough about her crush, by the way he’s looking at her. “It’s okay,” she tells him. “I’ll always dance with you, yeah? Whenever you’ve got an ex-girlfriend you’d like to make angry…” She smiles.

He kisses her on the forehead, letting it linger. “Thank you,” he tells her. “I had a – a nice time.” 

She lets her eyes slide shut, just for a second. “So did I,” she promises.

* 

“I bet she’s terrible,” Zayn says.

Louis rolls her eyes, holding the phone between her ear and shoulder, holding a shirt up to her chest. She wrinkles her nose, tossing it to the side. She sits down, just in her bra and knickers, pulling her knees up to her chest. “I’m sure she’s lovely, Zee.”

“You know you can be jealous,” Zayn says. “That’s allowed.”

Louis shrugs, picking at one of her toenails. She should repaint them, but she’s not got the time or the willpower, honestly. “I’m not going to hate her just for being in love with him.”

“You mean like you are?” Zayn asks, voice gone all funny.

Louis stays silent. She doesn’t cry; she pulls off her glasses and wipes at her eyes before she can.

“Oh, honey,” Zayn whispers. 

Louis swallows back her tears. “He said he’s not interested, anyway, dunno why I’m being so fucking ridiculous,” she says. 

“Louis –” Zayn starts, and Louis can’t, she  _ can’t _ hear this.

“Pink or purple?” she asks. “I want to—we’re going out tonight, yeah? You, me, and El. I need to—something.”

“All right, babe,” Zayn says, because she’s the best friend Lou’s ever had. “Yeah, let’s go.”

* 

“I honestly, honestly love you,” Louis tells Eleanor, twisting their fingers together.

El laughs, leaning back against the booth, and closes her eyes. “You’re pissed,” she says, soft.

“Yeah,” Louis says, and in the same breath, “I think I’m in love with him.”

There’s a hand at her forehead, followed by Eleanor’s lips, soft and warm. “I know, babe,” she says.

Louis doesn’t cry, but she presses her face against Eleanor’s jacket. Zayn’s hand, warm on her arm, pulls her up and out of the pub.

She falls into the cab, and doesn’t think about anything but the lights passing by her eyes.

Zayn climbs into bed with her, kissing her forehead. Eleanor begs off, joining Niall, and Louis can’t bring herself to be upset. She has her Zayn, after all, and that’s all she needs.

“Love you,” she whispers, clinging to her like a lifeline; this wonderful, beautiful girl that’s always been there for her. “So much.”

“I know, babe,” Zayn whispers back to her, feather-soft. “Love you, too.”

She falls asleep.

* 

Zayn’s laugh wakes her up.

She jerks up, her mouth feeling full of cotton. She wipes at her eyes and falls off her bed. She lies there a long moment, bemoaning every bad decision she’s ever made, and pulls herself into her bathroom to throw up. She leans her head against the toilet, gagging a bit.

It takes a long time, but she finally gets it all out of her system; her streak has been broken, it seems, which is  _ bullshit _ . She rinses out her mouth and winces at her reflection. Her hair’s a mess around her head, and everything’s sort of fuzzy. At least she had the forethought to take out her contacts before getting into bed. With a sigh, she pulls on her glasses and her hair back into a knot. Good as it’s gonna get, she figures.

She can hear Liam and Zayn talking in the other room. It sounds decidedly romantic, decidedly adorable, and Louis doesn’t have any time for it this morning.

“Shut up,” she tells the both of them, heading for the kettle.

“Hey,” Zayn says, and gets up to press a mug of tea into her hand. It’s warm but not scalding. Louis could kiss her. After a second, 

She looks between the two of them, both of them with tiny grins on their faces, and groans. “Don’t start being adorable when I can barely keep my eyes open,” she says.

And then she hears a giggle, and she’s pretty sure this is her personal hell. She starts atoning for all of her sins— _ I’m sorry I stole a cinnamon bun from Elsie in year three _ —and then Harry comes out of his room. Alone, thankfully, though for a split second she thinks she hears a girl behind him. Turns out, that’s just Eleanor. 

“Good morning!” Harry calls. He sounds far too happy. She hates him.

Louis closes her eyes. “Please,” she groans, “please stop.” She puts her head on the table. Fuck alcohol.

“She’s hungover, don’t mind her,” Zayn murmurs, presumably to Harry.

Harry tsks and sits down next to her, rubbing her back. “Want to go out for breakfast?” he offers. “Get something greasy and awful? Might make you feel better.” 

She groans, turning her head so that Harry’s petting her hair. “Already threw up,” she mumbles, “don’t think anything’s going to help at this point.” 

Harry hums reassuringly, scooting close until they’re pressed together. “Then we can watch films all day. Liam, do you mind f’I cancel?” he asks. 

“Yes,” Liam says.

“Too bad. Think someone needs me more,” Harry says, a little playful. 

Louis smiles, and thinks about her – confession, whatever, and doesn’t think about it very much at all after.

* 

“Miss T?”

Louis turns and crouches down next to Amber, the little girl whose lip is wobbling. “Yeah?” she murmurs, patting her hair down. “What’s wrong, love?”

“Jack broke my crayon,” she says.

Louis’s mouth opens, and she pulls her into a hug. “Well, that’s not fair! Did he apologize?”

“He did it on purpose,” she insists, and grabs Lou’s hand, pulling her. “Yell at him, Miss T!”

“Jack,” she says, hands on her hips, and raises her eyebrows at him. “Did you break Amber’s crayon?”

“She wouldn’t let me use the blue!” he says, crossing his arms.

She sighs. “Five minutes of time-out, okay? And Amber, you have to share, too.”

She’s got her own arms crossed, but she nods, looking dry-eyed.

Louis smiles at her and takes Jack to time-out. “Hey,” she says.

He doesn’t say anything, just glares at her.

“You’re not in trouble,” she says.

His frown deepens. “I’m in time-out,” he tells her, all  _ are you stupid, of course I am _ .

“I know. But you’re not in trouble, trouble.” She offers her fist out for him to tap. “Okay?”

After a long minute, he nods, and begrudgingly gives her a fist bump. She smiles at him, ruffling his hair, and goes back to her desk.

* 

“Hey,” Niall calls to her when she gets home. “Liam and Haz are out tonight. Want to order a Chinese?”

“Where’s Liam?” she asks, shrugging off her jacket.

“Think he went to see a film with Zayn, or summat.” He looks at her; he’s lying upside-down on the couch, head back. “Chinese?”

She laughs. “Yeah, sure.”

They end up sitting together and watching Bake-Off.

“I know we’re eating,” Niall says, around a mouthful of lo mein, “but I think this is making me hungry.”

“We should bake something,” Louis says in agreement, frowning at the screen. A woman’s squeezing icing with the utmost care onto a biscuit. “Not like that, though. Like—a cake, or something.”

Niall nods, setting aside his food and dusting his hands off. “Think Haz left some stuff.”

In the end, they don’t end up using a recipe; Niall insists that they need more chocolate, less caramel and Louis throws flour at him, and they end up on the floor with their half-arsed cake sitting in the oven.

The door slams open and Louis giggles, pressing her face into Niall’s neck and tapping him over the head with her flour-covered hand. “Liam’s gonna kill us.”

“Ah, babe, he’ll be fine,” Niall says, eyes shut. “Not so insufferable, now he’s getting laid.”

“What the fuck,” comes Harry’s voice.

Louis sits up, painfully aware of her glasses sliding off the edge of her nose and smudged, her hair wild around her head (she’d tied it in a knot but then Niall had pulled it when she’d tried to run around the counter). She folds her fingers together, stifling a laugh. “We tried to bake.”

Harry laughs, setting his bag on the counter and hopping up as well. He sniffs the air and wrinkles his nose. “What did you do to it?”

Now that he mentions it, it doesn’t really smell like delicious baked goods, but—

“I think it’s burning,” Niall says helpfully, and doesn’t get up.

Louis sits up all the way and gives Harry her best puppy eyes.

“Ugh,” he says, but gets up, putting an oven mitt and pulling out the mostly cooked cake. He sets it on the table, wrinkling his nose.

Louis stands up and wraps herself around him, hopping up on his back. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that,” she says, helpful.

Harry laughs into her ear, and shakes his head. “You want me to make something?”

“Yes,” she says, and smacks a kiss against his cheek.

“All right, but I’m going out with Nick tonight,” he says, shifting so that she’s perched up further on his back and he can grab a mixing bowl. “You have to do dishes and take it out of the oven, yeah?”

“Yeah!” she says. Niall’s gone by now, probably to get out of doing work. “Only, why am I not invited?” 

Harry wrinkles his nose. “You want to come out with me and Nick?” 

“Haven’t met him,” she says, keeping her voice lifted. “I’d like to, though, anyone that you like, properly, is bound to be a good person.” 

Harry frowns at her, though (Louis hopes) he looks pleased enough at the compliments. It’s stupidly, stupidly attractive. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, and hops up onto her tiptoes, rocking on the balls of her feet. “Sorry, just a bit antsy. I’ll go out with Zayn tonight, okay? Don’t worry. Have fun with Nick,” she says. 

Harry’s frown deepens but he doesn’t fight her on it, just gets to baking. 

This is all fine.

* 

“I just,” Louis says, around a mouthful of pizza, “I’m not sure if this is a good time. Is it still a rebound if it’s been this long? What’s the statute of limitations on that?”

Zayn fixes her with a look, fixing her sunglasses on top of her head. “You could always go to someone else,” she offers. “Try to pick someone up. You don’t need him to be your soulmate, you know?”

Louis rolls her eyes, kicking her under the table. “Take me to a pub, then, let’s see if it’ll even  _ work _ .”

“Soon,” Zayn promises.

* 

It doesn’t end up coming to that.

She’s kicking a football around in the park with Liam and Niall, letting off steam; it’s a three-day weekend and just this side of chilly. She’s got a hoodie and trackies on, hair up in a messy knot, and she’s laughing, kicking at Niall.

“Will you stop cheating!” she insists, trying to fend both of them off at the same time. “You tits! Both of you!”

“Mind if I join?” a small, amused, clearly American voice asks.

Louis looks up, and nearly falls over.

Niall leaves her side, going to hug the guy, pulling him in tight. “Nick! How ya been, mate?”

Nick, apparently, laughs. If this Nick is the same Nick as Harry’s friend Nick – well. He’s been holding out on her. 

He runs a hand through his hair, nodding at Liam. “Hey,” he says.

Liam isn’t having any of that—and Louis is definitely getting this story out of Harry later—and pulls him in as well, hugging him tight.

Nick nods at Louis, who’s been standing with her hands on her hips and one of her feet resting on the football. “Who’s this?” he asks.

Louis smiles, holding out her hand for a shake. “Louis,” she says.

“’m Nick.” He grins at her. “Never could get these guys to play soccer with me, how’d you do it?”

Louis shrugs. “Reckon I’m better than you—and I call it by its proper name. Football. Not this bullshit you guys’ve got over there.”

Nick laughs at that, warm and delighted. “I’m in the wrong?”

Louis’s smile widens. “You’re in England, babe.”

Nick takes the ball from her quickly. “How about this,” he says, hands on his hips. “I’ll play you for it.”

“What, and when I win you’ll call it footie, as you should?” she asks, stealing the ball back and kicking it up into her hands. She grins. “I like the sound of that.”

Nick bites his lip and looks at her under his lashes. “Good,” he says.

* 

Nick fights clean, all fakeouts and genuine skill that have Louis covered in sweat and really working. She finally, finally gets it past him and shoots it into the goal, arms up. “Ha!” she shouts, even as Liam runs at her and lifts her up, spinning her around.

Nick grins at her, fixing his hair and shaking his head. “You’re good,” he says.

She fits the ball under her arm, biting her lip and thinking about biting his neck instead, holding him down and kissing him hard. She shifts.

“Rematch?” Nick asks her.

Louis grins. “Sure,” she says, tilting her head. “But this time, I want dinner first.” 

Nick’s smile widens. “You’re on,” he tells her, handing her his phone. “I’ll call you, yeah?” 

“That girl,” she hears Niall say. She grins and focuses back on Nick.

* 

Nick is—well. He’s properly American, and funny, and hot. Lou’s half in love with him by the time she’s finished her second drink, and she’s feeling relaxed and happy in a way she hasn’t really in a while. He trails his finger up her arm, and she shivers.

She kisses him, soft and delicate. It turns dirty too fast, and she’s pulling him closer to her. He lets out a shocked little breath against her mouth and wraps his arms around her waist as much as he can in the dark booth. “Fuck,” he breathes.

She bites at his neck and smiles when he shivers. “Mmm,” she breathes back at him, kissing him again, harder, more deliberate. She feels desperate with how much she wants him and it’s a fantastic feeling.

“Want to get out of here?” she asks him, fingers wrapping around his wrist.

He looks at her, eyes wide, and bites his lip. “Yeah,” he breathes, kissing her again.

She laughs, pulling him out of the pub and into a cab. “Come on, then,” she says, kissing him once, and gives her address to the driver.

* 

The flat is empty when they get back; Harry’s at Nick’s (other Nick, apparently, Grimshaw where the one she’s on a date with is Jonas), Zayn and Liam are out doing something artistic and hipster, and Niall’s… doing something, Louis is sure (with Eleanor, she’s also sure). She stands in her entryway, and Nick looks almost apprehensively at her.

“Come on, then,” she whispers, kissing him. He’s so tall; she has to go up onto her tiptoes and she groans, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down.

“All right,” he gets out and pushes her jacket off her shoulders, mouthing at her collarbone. “God, you’re hot,” he whispers.

She huffs out a laugh, shivering with the heat of it all. “Sweet talker, you.”

“Beautiful, too,” he murmurs into her neck, kissing his way up to behind her ear, “and sweet, and smart, and—”

“Will you shut up,” Louis breathes, pulling him in for a proper kiss. She drags him to her bedroom and falls backwards on the bed, pulling him with her. She kicks at her shoes and pulls at his shirt, wanting everything now; she doesn’t want to savor every moment but feel it all, like a rush. It’s her first time after Nathan, her first  _ first _ time in six years, and – she pushes the thought back, kisses him again.

“Oh,” he gets out, and he pulls off her shirt, too, sets it to the side almost delicately. His hands rest at her waist and he just looks at her.

She shifts, tilts her head, grins too wide and winks. “Enjoying the show?” she asks.

Nick laughs, shaking his head, and she takes the moment to flip them over, grinding her hips down onto his. Her breath comes out on a gasp and his hands tighten around her waist.

“Off,” she gets out, tugging at his trousers. She can feel his dick through them, hard and hot, and she needs it, feels the months without sex like a palpable emptiness. “Just—off.”

He stutters out a moan, and nods, kicking them off and to the side. “You—you too,” he gets out.

She groans and rolls off of him, tugging off her knickers with the skirt she’d decided to wear, and after a moment’s thought tosses her bra to the side, too. His hand, delicate on her face, stops her.

She looks at him, eyes wide.

“Hey,” he says, soft. “It’s okay.”

He doesn’t know and still she feels comforted by it. She takes a moment to just breathe and then it all gets to be too much and she just wants.

“I want you to fuck me,” she whispers, rolling onto her side and tossing her leg over his hip.

He grins, leaning back and letting her shift on top of him again, sitting up straight. She shifts her hips against his and it’d be so easy for him to fuck her—

He stops her with a hand on her waist, holding her still. “Want to go down on you first,” he says, and it’s impossibly hot in his stupid accent.

She’s on her back in a second, and she’s fuzzy on whether it was her moving or him moving her there, but then he’s between her legs and licking at her clit, sliding a finger into her. She moans, resting a hand on the back of his head, and lets him go, doesn’t move him.

He’s good, knows just when she’s at the edge and pulls back, slowing down until her breathing comes out more evenly.

“Not yet,” he whispers, and bites at her thigh, sucks a bite there. He slips a third finger inside her and fucks her hard, enough that she’s whimpering with the need to just get off, now.

“You fucker,” she gets out, when she’s had enough, and tightens her hand in his hair. “Just—so close—”

“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathes, and bites at her thigh, and rubs his thumb on her clit, and she comes, hard, on a gasp that’s almost a sob.

He’s desperate when she opens her eyes, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. She grins at him, and points at her dresser. “Condoms,” she gets out, and lies there, content to bask in it. “You’re good at that,” she adds, unnecessarily.

“Thanks,” he says, and slides inside her in one go.

She goes silent, fingers scratching his shoulders, and lies there a moment, letting herself adjust. He’s bigger than Nathan, and anyway it’s been a while; but it feels good, too, and god, Zayn was so right about this. “Fuck,” she gets out, and wraps her ankle around his leg. “Harder,” she says, tilting her neck back.

He fucks her harder, and sucks a bite just beneath her ear, and no makeup’s going to cover that—and god, she’ll have to hide it, she’s got work on Monday—but it feels so good. He groans with every thrust and gets a hand between them to rub at her clit, and that’s it—she’s coming again, hard, Nick fucking her through it.

He comes with an almost startled cry and lies there a moment, letting his breathing get back to normal.

She shoves him to the side. “Oi, you’re heavy.” She drops a kiss onto his forehead, though; he’s really, really good and she doesn’t want to piss him off.

Nick just laughs and sits up to tie the condom off, throwing it away and pulling her close again. “Mmm,” he says into her hair.

“You’re never allowed to leave,” Louis tells him, grinning. “You’re going to stay here and have sex with me whenever I want it and—”

“That good?” Nick says, smiling.

She nods, too blissed out to be embarrassed. “Pretty sure I’m in love with you for that alone.”

Nick, bless him, just kisses her cheek and pulls her close, so that he’s wrapped around her. Evidently he takes serious admissions like that as seriously as Louis does in saying them. “‘m not gonna leave,” he says, almost a slur, and falls asleep on the next breath.

Louis follows, and it’s nice. She doesn’t think about anything but Nick, and is asleep in minutes.

* 

Nick, true to his word, is awake when she gets up. He’s on her laptop, drinking a mug of coffee, and both of those things should annoy her but she’s still too pleased to really care.

“Morning,” he says. He leans over and drops a kiss onto her forehead. He wrinkles his nose, then, and Louis really shouldn’t find it as adorable as she does. “Did you mean it?”

“Hmm?” She’s still working on waking up, and curls her way towards him, the warmth.

He runs a hand down her back. “That you didn’t want me to leave.”

“Oh. Of course I want you to stay.” She sits up enough that she can nose at his neck, nipping at him. “A fit guy in my bed, who’s complaining?”

He rolls his eyes, setting his coffee to the side—coffee, seriously, eurgh—and kisses her. He tastes like toothpaste and bitter coffee and she probably tastes like morning breath but he doesn’t complain, just grins at her.

“Food or sex?” she asks, rolling onto her back. She frowns. “Wait. Gotta pee, and then—” she kisses him again “—sex, I think.”

He laughs at her, shaking his head. She considers her clothes, strewn around her room, and then pulls on his boxers and shirt from last night.

He groans. “You’re going to kill me,” he says. She shrugs and winks at him, padding her way to the bathroom.

“Jesus,” she hears, and jumps, turning around.

It’s Niall, leaning against his doorframe. “Good night?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Louis laughs. “Yep,” she says.

When she gets back into the room, Nick’s half asleep and wrapped around her pillow. She crawls into bed across from him, reaching out to touch his face.

“Mm,” he says.

“Nap, then sex?” she asks.

He opens one eye. “I’m sure you could convince me to wake up earlier,” he says, rolling over onto his back.

She laughs, and slides down his body, tugging off his pants. “I think I could,” she says, and licks up his cock. He jerks his hips, awake now. She smiles (feels like she hasn’t stopped all morning) and goes down on him slowly, enough that when he comes it’s breathless and this side of begging.

He fingers her until she’s shuddering and kisses her through it, sucking the bruise in her neck darker than before.

“You make me feel like a teenager,” she mumbles around a yawn, spread out on her bed.

He huffs out a laugh. “How’s that?”

“Mmm.” She wraps around him. “Love bites and all that. You’re stupidly hot. Feel stupid.”

He snorts but holds her, and she falls asleep again, content.

* 

Nick leaves that evening, with a promise of a date on Tuesday (“I’ll take you out this time!” he insists, and “wear something nice!”) and a kiss. Louis falls onto the couch, grinning, wide.

“He’ll be good for you,” Liam says. “He’s a nice lad.”

Louis snorts. “Good in bed, too.”

“Listen, I don’t want to hear it,” but he can’t make it sound annoyed, still looking at Louis with all kinds of fondness.

She rolls her eyes, tossing a pillow at him. “It’s going to be casual,” she says. “We talked about it.” Which—okay, they didn’t, but she’s pretty sure that (barring her declaration of love) Nick gets it. She shrugs.

Liam laughs. “All right, love.” He kisses her forehead and walks away, calling “Want pasta?” as he walks into the kitchen.

“Yes, thanks!” she calls back, and curls further into the couch cushions.

* 

Harry pulls away from her, subtly at first. He stops cuddling with her so much, stops dropping into her room when she’s not been out for a few hours.

She grabs his arm when he’s about to go to work, turns him around with a frown. “Why’re you avoiding me?” she demands. Nick’s not here; he’s back at his place for the weekend. His brother’s come to visit.

Harry shrugs, but he’s not making eye contact with her. “I’m not,” he mumbles.

She rolls her eyes, smacking his arm. “Yes, you are. Why?”

“Don’t want Nick to get jealous,” he says.

She frowns. “He won’t,” she says. 

“You guys aren’t – you’re, like – in love,” he says earnestly. 

“We are not,” she insists. “He likes me, I like him.” She shrugs. “That’s all it is.”

He raises his eyebrows at her. “You’re an idiot.”

Him and his stupid fucking expressions can go away. “I’m not. We’re not--like that. His brother’s here visiting and he didn’t ask me to meet him.”

“All right,” Harry says, “but I still think you should talk to him.”

“And I think you should stop avoiding me out of some misplaced sense of duty.” She hits him again, and then once more for good measure. He’s very clearly fighting a grin and she rolls her eyes. “God, shut up.”

“You miss me paying attention to you!” he shouts after her, voice a sing-song. “You miss my cuddles and my hair!”

“Chop all your hair off, see if I care!” she shouts back. “Actually, don’t,” she says softly. She quite likes Harry’s hair. It’s fun to yank on when he’s being annoying. Like now, for example.

The door shuts behind Harry and she sighs, pulls her pillow to her chest and stares at the wall.

Her stupid thing for Harry hasn’t gone away yet, it seems.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

*

“It’s called True American,” Nick says, standing in the middle of the living room, on the coffee table. He has a beer in hand, and two unopened six-packs next to him. 

Harry crosses his arms, sitting down on the couch. “How do you play?” he asks. 

Two hours later, Louis is unsure of any of the rules of the game but she’s  _ won _ , it seems, and she’s found herself tackled by Harry, drunk and stumbling around after her. “You’re not allowed to play again,” he tells her. “It isn’t fair.” 

“Well, where am I supposed to go?” Louis demands, scoffing at that. 

Harry considers it. “Get more beer,” he says. 

Louis groans, shaking her head. “Don’t want to,” she says. “It’s late, I could get  _ murdered _ .” She’s far too drunk to drive, and anyway she knows herself; she’d go out for beer and come back with several bottles of wine. 

“What if I come along?” Harry offers. “Could call an Uber…” 

“Doesn’t that mean you won’t be able to win, though?” Louis asks. They’re off to the side, and the game’s continuing in the rest of the living room; no one else is paying them any mind. 

Harry shrugs. “I don’t really want to win,” he says, earnest as always. 

Louis hates him a little bit; he seems like he’s serious, like what he wants is to spend all of his time with her. She knows that’s not true, that’s not how it  _ is _ , but. She’s drunk, she can’t help herself.

She takes his hand and squeezes. “You’re paying for it, then,” she tells him. “I’ll pay for the wine, how about that?” 

Harry grins at her. “I thought we were getting beer?” he asks, grabbing his jacket and shrugging it on, leading them out of the apartment. Just before he shuts the door, Louis hears Nick shout something, and she laughs, ducking her head. 

“Do you really not want us to have wine?” Louis asks, pouting a little bit. “It’ll be delicious, though, and much sweeter than beer.” She hums. “Nick doesn’t like it much, but he doesn’t drink enough for it to really matter.” 

Harry nods, looking down. “How are you and he doing, by the way?” he asks. 

Louis shrugs. “Fine,” she says. “It’s fun. He’s gone on some terrible dates lately, keeps telling me about ‘em. It’s sort of cute.” 

“Terrible dates with you?” Harry asks. 

Louis shakes her head. “Nah. I told you, we’re -- casual, like,” she tells him, hitting the button to call the elevator. “He’s headed back to America in a little while, anyway, his brother’s flying back with him. Actually -- I’m pretty sure that he went on a few of those dates with  _ your _ Nick. Said he was very pretty,” she says, grinning.

She can feel Harry looking at her. “And that’s -- all right?” he asks. 

Louis nods, grinning at him. “I promise, I won’t be heartbroken when he leaves,” she teases, rolling her eyes fondly at him. “I like him. That’s all it is.” 

“Right,” Harry says, frowning. “But you won’t, like -- regret that?” 

“Jesus, you sound like Zayn,” Louis says, sighing. She lets go of his hand so she can rummage through her purse, making sure she has her cards and keys with her. She stumbles a little, falling nearly directly onto Harry. “I’m fine.” She gives him a look. “I’m drunk, you know I can’t lie when I’m drunk.” 

Harry’s looking at her like -- well, like she’s a lot of things, confusing most of all. “If you promise --” he starts. 

“I promise!” Louis insists, laughing. “I’m not… I’ve never had the chance to do something like this, you know? Just have a good time with someone without it getting serious. It’s fun, I dunno.” 

Harry nods, walking the two of them out of their building to wait for the car. “D’you think this is how you want to, like -- spend the next few years, then?” he asks, sounding oddly serious. “Or…?” He trails off. 

Louis knows what she wants him to mean, but she also knows that she’s drunk, and she’s no good at reading signals when she’s drunk. “I don’t think so,” she says anyway. “I think I’m… one and done, when it comes to casual things. I don’t know.”

“Good,” Harry says quietly. 

“What?” Louis asks. 

“Just -- you should be in a relationship,” Harry says. “If you want to be in one, I mean.” He coughs, putting a little bit of distance between the two of them, and waves to what is, presumably, their car. “Come on.” 

She doesn’t call him out on it; she’s not sure what she’d say, and anyway there’s nothing to ask about. Harry’s a sweetheart, has always been a sweetheart, especially to her.

*

“Truth or dare!” Zayn shouts as soon as Louis and Harry get back, arms weighed down by entirely too much wine. “Come on, come on.” 

Louis laughs, turning to look at Harry. She can feel how pink her cheeks are but she can blame that on the hour and the alcohol, and it’s fine, it’s all fine. “Come on, then,” she says. 

Nick’s gone; Louis fumbles around for her phone when she realizes but loses the urge pretty quickly. She’ll text him in the morning. 

She ends up half in Harry’s lap, legs sprawled out in front of her. “Truth or dare!” she yells, though there are only a few people left, and Liam and Zayn are having what looks to be a very serious conversation, staring at one another. 

She turns and tucks her face against Harry’s shoulder to avoid thinking about it. It’s fine, it’s all fine. 

*

“Dare,” Harry says, when it’s his turn. 

Liam hums. “Kiss Louis,” he tells him. 

Louis, who was nearly asleep with her head on his arm, jerks awake. She’s blushing terribly dark after all this, but no one seems to be looking at her, focused instead on Harry. 

“What?” he asks. 

Liam shrugs. “Kiss her,” he says, waving a hand. “Come on, she looks sad.”

Louis sends a panicked look toward Zayn, but Zayn just shakes her head, small. Her fingers are laced together with Liam’s. 

“No,” Harry says, finally. He clears his throat, sitting up. “No, I don’t want -- no. Truth, instead, yeah?” 

Louis feels a rush of -- not shame, she doesn’t feel shame like that, but embarrassment crowd over her. “More wine,” she says, interrupting whatever Liam’s question was, and hurries to the kitchen. She sits down on the ground, back against the fridge, half-full wine bottle sat in front of her. 

So he doesn’t want to kiss her at all. It’s fine, it’s what she’d expected, but -- to have it laid out like that hurts more than she’d thought it would. 

She takes a sip and makes a face, crossing her legs and pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. She shouldn’t be here, doing this, shouldn’t be getting drunk with Harry every weekend, flirting with him when she knows he doesn’t want her to, getting her hopes up when it’s  _ pointless _ , fucking pointless. 

She hears someone step into the kitchen and she sits up, forcing a smile on her face. 

Harry’s standing there. “Hey,” he says. His lips are purple, darker than normal, presumably because of the red he’d insisted they get even though he’s the only one that likes it. “Are you alright?” 

“Yep,” she tells him, voice tight without really meaning it to be. She smiles wider. “Wonderful.” 

After a few seconds of consideration, he sits down next to her, looking at her. 

Louis sighs. “What?” she asks. 

“I’m not going to kiss you because Liam dared me to,” Harry tells her, very quiet, so much that for a moment Louis thinks she’s fabricated it. 

“Fine,” Louis says. “You don’t have to. I’ve kissed plenty of people, Styles, one rejection isn’t going to --” 

Harry scoffs. “Shut up,” he tells her, squeezing her leg. 

She looks at him, ready to argue, but he’s  _ so _ close, right there, and whatever she was about to say catches in her throat. 

He kisses her, then, the hum of the refrigerator behind them and his hand still on her thigh. He keeps it gentle, but she he breaks it, Louis could swear she felt him trembling. 

“Not a dare,” Harry tells her, “and not a rejection. Yeah?” 

She nods, looking at him even though they’re close enough that he looks blurry and out of focus. “Yeah,” she murmurs. 

Harry’s smiling, she can tell. He kisses her again, still gentle, and when he pulls away he doesn’t stop, stands up and leaves the room altogether. 

And Louis is left there, sat on her kitchen floor. 

_ Well _ . 

* 

Nick goes back to America; Louis misses him for a few days but not like Zayn expects her to. She and Harry don’t talk about  _ that night _ , and after a week she stops expecting him to bring it up. 

He won’t sit next to her like he used to, but apart from that everything is the same.

“I think,” she tells Zayn when they’re out on Friday night, nursing her third beer, “I finally mastered the casual thing.” 

“You mastered it?” Zayn asks, laughing. “Think that might be a bit premature.” 

Zayn is  _ rude _ , is what she is, and Louis will not stand for it. “Fuck you,” Louis tells her, making a face. “I’m very casual. I could pick anyone up and never think about ‘em again.” 

Zayn gives her a flat, unamused look. “Only because you’re hung up on Harry,” she tells her. 

“ _ Be that as it may _ ,” Louis starts, because there’s no point in lying to her Zayn about that, “he’s not hung up on me, is he? So all I’ve got to do is wait out this crush, or whatever, and then I’ll be fine. Can get married to some other lad -- or bird, you never know -- and have, like -- a million kids.” It’s an excellent plan, in her opinion, much like all of her plans are. 

“Or you could ask him out,” Zayn offers. 

Louis glares. “You told me not to rebound!”

“A year ago,” Zayn says slowly, looking at her like she’s an  _ absolute _ idiot. “Fuck, is that what this is about? You can --”

“He kissed me,” Louis says. “The other -- when Liam dared him to and I left, he came in and kissed me but he didn’t say anything, so he’s not -- he’d have asked me out himself, if he wanted to, then. So it’s fine.” It feels like her word of the month,  _ fine _ , and it makes her feel like she’s fifteen again but it’s all she can think of that encompasses this situation she’s found herself in. 

“Oh, babe,” Zayn says, tilting her head. She reaches across the table and squeezes her hand. “I’m sorry.” 

So Zayn agrees, then. Louis blinks fast. “It’s all right,” she tells her, smiling. “At least I got the -- a kiss, or whatever, and it wasn’t -- wasn’t a joke.” he’d seemed to like it, seemed so gentle when he finally did, but that -- it doesn’t matter. 

“Still,” Zayn says. She squeezes her wrist again. “Hey. Why don’t we head back to yours? Can watch a film and eat ice cream or something.” 

Louis is about to make a show out of insisting that she isn’t heartbroken, she doesn’t need that, but she deflates before she can even start. “Yeah,” she tells her, smiling. “That sounds amazing, actually.” 

*

Time passes. They don’t talk about it.

Louis gets roped into working at the haunted house at her school, as she does every year. She gets to be a clown, which isn’t something she would consider in her wheelhouse but it’s fun, anyway. 

“You have to come!” she insists to everyone -- their kitchen is full most mornings, Liam and Zayn on the couch, Niall and Eleanor at the counter, seemingly eating straight out of the fridge, and Harry close to Louis (though not as close as he used to be). “It’ll be fun, yeah? And the money goes to help the school.” 

“Of course,” Zayn says. “We’ll  _ all _ go.” She shoots a look at Niall, who is really the only one Louis would have expected to disagree. 

“How scary is it?” Harry asks. 

Louis blinks. “I work at a primary school, Harry,” she tells him.

“Well, yeah, but -- these kids, with their, like -- video games and all that, they’re used to some gruesome shit,” Harry says, slowly blushing darker. “Just -- scale of one to ten, how scary is it?” 

“Four?” Louis guesses. 

Harry goes white. 

Louis grins at him. “You  _ have _ to come,” she insists, leaning over to muss with his hair, jerking away when he swats at her. “Come on! You’ve got to support me in all my endeavors.” 

Harry pouts. 

“That won’t work,” Louis tell him. It would, on a normal day, but she’d rather do her best to scare the pants off Harry than see him happy, as cruel as that might sound. 

“Fine,” Harry says. “I’ll -- fine. I’ll go with Liam, yeah?” 

“Fine,” Louis teases. Privately, she thinks that that sounds like the worst option for him -- Zayn is ruthless, especially lately. She won’t argue, though. 

*

She means to make it a point to scare Harry more than anyone else, but of course once the night begins it all goes by in a blur. 

She stays in character the entire time, except when a toddler bursts into tears upon seeing her; she’s not made of stone, after all, and the intent is to  _ scare _ the kids, not  _ traumatize _ them. She bends down and takes his hand, leading him out through the doors; he’s very mistrustful of her, but she can’t blame him. She wouldn’t want to see herself in the middle of the night, not with this makeup. 

She’s sore and her voice is shot by the time the night is over. She washes off most of her makeup, helping the kids get dressed and waiting for all of their parents to show up. 

She’s sitting in the dressing room, waiting for Zayn to let her know they’re done with the rest of the festival, when she hears a soft, “Boo,” from behind her. 

She grins and turns around. Harry’s right there, dressed as -- a hockey player, she’s pretty sure. “Hey,” she says, tugging him into a hug. It’s been weeks and Harry’s hugs are always the nicest, and she’s too tired after her long (long, long) night to worry about whether signals are or aren’t being sent. “Did you come through?” 

“I did,” Harry confirms, grinning at her. He keeps his arms loose around her waist. “Scared the shit out of me, just like I thought it would.” 

Louis laughs at that. “Sorry,” she says, though she sounds much too self-satisfied for it to hold any water; she can hear it in her voice. 

“No, you aren’t,” Harry murmurs. He tilts his head a little. “Hey,” he murmurs. “D’you want to get something to eat?” 

She nods. This feels -- nice, special, like he’s asking her with weight behind it. “Is anyone else coming?” she asks, still stood very, very close to him. 

Harry shakes his head. “Nah. Thought it could be just us,” he offers. 

Louis smiles at that. She goes up on her tiptoes, kissing him once, gentler than she might normally in case she’s read this wrong, in case this isn’t what he wanted. 

That, as the case may be, isn’t what happens; Harry makes a little noise into it, bringing one of his hands up and into her hair, kissing her more firmly. His other stays at her lower back, keeping her close, pressed against him. 

“Shit,” Louis mumbles, nudging her nose against his cheek. “How set on dinner are you?” 

“I could always make us something,” Harry offers, kissing the corner of her mouth, her jaw, under her eye, “but I’d like to -- take you out, first. At least at the carnival?” 

Louis fights to suppress her stupid smile. “Yeah,” she says, pulling away and patting his hip a few times. “Sounds nice.” 

Harry doesn’t let her away that easily, both of his hands on her cheeks when he kisses her again, longer this time. “I think I’ve been very, very stupid,” he mumbles when he breaks it, kissing the bridge of her nose and then her forehead. 

Louis, for her part, is more overwhelmed than she feels comfortable admitting even to herself by all of those kisses. “Have you?” she asks. 

He nods, smiling with another kiss. “Thought,” he murmurs, “that you’d have said something f’you wanted to kiss me again.” 

“Ah,” she teases, leaning up to let the kiss nudge a little deeper. “Very, very stupid of you, you should know by now that I like being romanced.” 

“I’ll do my best to make it up to you,” Harry promises, kissing her again. With both of them smiling as wide at they are it’s terrible, honestly, but Louis wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on twitter @ haloutines and tumblr @ georgiecrusoe! 8)


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